“Hey there little guy,” Alfred begun, smiling warmly at the animal he knew hiding behind the tall grasses.
He parted the grasses, and he was right, a pinkish-white bunny was lying on the ground, curious with the newcomer. He crouched and reached out his hand, hoping the little creature would hop on his palm. He couldn’t help but chuckle, it felt so nostalgic!
The pink bunny, as the American would call it, stuck its nose on his fingers, sniffing his hands, assessing whether it should trust him or not. Still chuckling, he moved to pet the little thing. He missed his old days when he didn’t care about the world or have rifts with his teenage father figure.
Remembering the last heated exchange, he sighed, feeling his chest go heavy. He took Pink Bunny in his arms and began to pat its head absently. How he wished he could have normal conversations with the Briton. He just wanted to see Arthur. Why did he have to be an ass and complain on every little thing he did?
Well, maybe he was at fault too. Maybe the downfall started during that Revolutionary War, and it never recovered. Blue eyes narrowed. The past is the past. Nothing can be done to change it.
He slowly got up, still petting Pink Bunny on the head. He missed doing this to his favorite playmate in the 17th century. He did love bunnies after all. They were his first friends. He raised the cuddly animal to eye level, and nuzzled its nose. They still bring comfort to him, after all those centuries had passed.
As he began again his search for shelter, he noticed another faint sound coming from the left. He stopped to feel the environment. He couldn’t smell any threat. He continued his quest, still being on guard on his surroundings, and still petting Pink Bunny on the head, which seemed to like the treatment. He walked further the clearing, hoping to find a cave to rest for the night. The sky was really ominous, threatening to spill rain soon.
America hurried his steps, focusing more on the task at hand rather than his environment. He failed to hear the rustle of the trees. He failed to notice the glint at the corner of his peripheral vision. He failed to snap his senses back to alert mode.
A sound of something flying towards him was the only notice Alfred got before he winced in pain as something struck on his left arm. An arrow was sticking neatly on the left deltoid muscle, and he snapped his attention to the source of the weapon, Pink Bunny still on his chest, trying to climb away from his grasp. It was jerked from its comfortable position.
He heard a bow being pulled back and he heightened his senses, ready to catch anything that the attacker will throw at him. At the sound of the bow being released, Alfred’s reflex caught the bow a second before it would hit his chest. A startled gasp was evident from the trees, and he detected something familiar from the sound. Yet he couldn’t recall what it was.
Directing his thoughts back into the situation, he gave little warning to his aggressor before he made a dash to the forest, and heard a panic-filled scamper, and he had to grin because he knew it’s time for a cat and mouse chase. Pink Bunny was still safe in his arms. He wouldn’t let it go for reasons unknown to him.
He did his best to silence his race, but the leaves are everywhere and they crunch every time he stepped on them, so to hell with it, he knew he would be the champion anyway. No one escaped from the hero. He followed the trail of his prey, and judging from the tracks it made; it was small, too small for an actual threat. But he wouldn’t let go of the injustice that happened to him, and he was curious after all. The prey was small yet it gave an accurate shot. America had to grin. This was becoming interesting.
Blast From The Future (2b/?)
He parted the grasses, and he was right, a pinkish-white bunny was lying on the ground, curious with the newcomer. He crouched and reached out his hand, hoping the little creature would hop on his palm. He couldn’t help but chuckle, it felt so nostalgic!
The pink bunny, as the American would call it, stuck its nose on his fingers, sniffing his hands, assessing whether it should trust him or not. Still chuckling, he moved to pet the little thing. He missed his old days when he didn’t care about the world or have rifts with his teenage father figure.
Remembering the last heated exchange, he sighed, feeling his chest go heavy. He took Pink Bunny in his arms and began to pat its head absently. How he wished he could have normal conversations with the Briton. He just wanted to see Arthur. Why did he have to be an ass and complain on every little thing he did?
Well, maybe he was at fault too. Maybe the downfall started during that Revolutionary War, and it never recovered. Blue eyes narrowed. The past is the past. Nothing can be done to change it.
He slowly got up, still petting Pink Bunny on the head. He missed doing this to his favorite playmate in the 17th century. He did love bunnies after all. They were his first friends. He raised the cuddly animal to eye level, and nuzzled its nose. They still bring comfort to him, after all those centuries had passed.
As he began again his search for shelter, he noticed another faint sound coming from the left. He stopped to feel the environment. He couldn’t smell any threat. He continued his quest, still being on guard on his surroundings, and still petting Pink Bunny on the head, which seemed to like the treatment. He walked further the clearing, hoping to find a cave to rest for the night. The sky was really ominous, threatening to spill rain soon.
America hurried his steps, focusing more on the task at hand rather than his environment. He failed to hear the rustle of the trees. He failed to notice the glint at the corner of his peripheral vision. He failed to snap his senses back to alert mode.
A sound of something flying towards him was the only notice Alfred got before he winced in pain as something struck on his left arm. An arrow was sticking neatly on the left deltoid muscle, and he snapped his attention to the source of the weapon, Pink Bunny still on his chest, trying to climb away from his grasp. It was jerked from its comfortable position.
He heard a bow being pulled back and he heightened his senses, ready to catch anything that the attacker will throw at him. At the sound of the bow being released, Alfred’s reflex caught the bow a second before it would hit his chest. A startled gasp was evident from the trees, and he detected something familiar from the sound. Yet he couldn’t recall what it was.
Directing his thoughts back into the situation, he gave little warning to his aggressor before he made a dash to the forest, and heard a panic-filled scamper, and he had to grin because he knew it’s time for a cat and mouse chase. Pink Bunny was still safe in his arms. He wouldn’t let it go for reasons unknown to him.
He did his best to silence his race, but the leaves are everywhere and they crunch every time he stepped on them, so to hell with it, he knew he would be the champion anyway. No one escaped from the hero. He followed the trail of his prey, and judging from the tracks it made; it was small, too small for an actual threat. But he wouldn’t let go of the injustice that happened to him, and he was curious after all. The prey was small yet it gave an accurate shot. America had to grin. This was becoming interesting.